Chapter 4

           RaskolnikovwentstraighttothehouseonthecanalbankwhereSonialived.Itwasanoldgreenhouseofthreestoreys.HefoundtheporterandobtainedfromhimvaguedirectionsastothewhereaboutsofKapernaumov,thetailor.Havingfoundinthecornerofthecourtyardtheentrancetothedarkandnarrowstaircase,hemountedtothesecondfloorandcameoutintoagallerythatranroundthewholesecondstoreyovertheyard.Whilehewaswanderinginthedarkness,uncertainwheretoturnforKapernaumov’sdoor,adooropenedthreepacesfromhim;hemechanicallytookholdofit.

           “Whoisthere?”awoman’svoiceaskeduneasily.

           “It’sI...cometoseeyou,”answeredRaskolnikovandhewalkedintothetinyentry.

           Onabrokenchairstoodacandleinabatteredcoppercandlestick.

           “It’syou!Goodheavens!”criedSoniaweakly,andshestoodrootedtothespot.

           “Whichisyourroom?Thisway?”andRaskolnikov,tryingnottolookather,hastenedin.

           AminutelaterSonia,too,cameinwiththecandle,setdownthecandlestickand,completelydisconcerted,stoodbeforehiminexpressiblyagitatedandapparentlyfrightenedbyhisunexpectedvisit.Thecolourrushedsuddenlytoherpalefaceandtearscameintohereyes...Shefeltsickandashamedandhappy,too....Raskolnikovturnedawayquicklyandsatonachairbythetable.Hescannedtheroominarapidglance.

           Itwasalargebutexceedinglylow-pitchedroom,theonlyoneletbytheKapernaumovs,towhoseroomsacloseddoorledinthewallontheleft.